All that fuss for a Bolognese?
by kumi-no-kotoba
Summary: "He read one more time the first line and sighed. Come on, he would do better to begin! Otherwise, he would be there until tomorrow. He took a knife and tried his hardest he could." My first OS. I'm french, please be clement! :D


_Hi everybody!_

_Well, this is a little exercise... I translated a fiction I wrote in French. So, I'm really sorry if there are some language mistakes... If you want to correct me, I'll be very glad and greatful! (If you like it, I may translate my other fictions in English... but don't know yet)_

_Hope you'll like it! Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: all the characters belong to JKR, I owe nothing. _

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**All that fuss for a Bolognese?**

The man frowned his eyebrows, excessively concentrated on the book in front of him. He read again for the third time without understanding any words of the first line. He glanced at the different ingredients put on the table and pursed his lips. He ran his hand through his blonde-almost-white hair and he squinted. His lips formed silent sentences, while he read again the words that are abutted each other, without he could really know the meaning of these latter.

Merlin how annoying it was! And no way that he used magic! He wanted to show them all what he was capable of! He would prove his talents! And especially to his wonderful wife! The one who thought he cannot do anything with his ten fingers as a muggle. He would show her! Faith of a Malefoy! She could only admit defeated! Because we won't admit it enough, Draco Malfoy had an unfailing pride, and it was just impossible for him to lose face so easily in front of a muggleborn. Come off it!

He read one more time the first line and sighed. Come on, he would do better to begin! Otherwise, he would be there until tomorrow. He took a knife and tried his hardest he could.

* * *

A few hours later and the hands full of bandages, Draco stared his work with an anxious look. His grey pupils were veiled of anxiety and he sniffed the mixture with apprehension. He read once again the book: it did not go the way it was supposed to be… It should be bright red, not greeny-brown… And those bubbles should be small and sparkling, not huge and amorphous… As for the smell… He had to admit that it was far, far away from the summer scent, if he was really realistic on this stinking smell that filled the room.

Draco frowned his eyebrows. And what if he added this? And that? Well, this one too?

The mixture boiled strangely on fire. With a little fear, Draco gulped and wondered how to get better what he just tried to make and that was – you had to be realistic! – a dismal failure. But while he was intending to get rid of his work, a big _bang!_ made him lose his balance, made him drop the container which landed on his foot. Throbbed with pain, he tried so-so to keep his balance by grabbing hold of the table, but failed: he lost absolutely his footing and the nape of his neck violently hit the corner of the table. He fell unconscious on the floor.

* * *

_Damn it! I'm going to get told off. Once again. Yet, I was convinced that this time, it would have worked… Phew, she'd even warned me! Oh man, what is that smell? Berk. It stinks. Where am I, now? A priori, I'm still at home. Might have fallen. What is that smell? I feel like, mh… I must be lying on the ground. How persistent is that smell!… I think I banged onto something. Would I have forgotten to turn off the heat? I think I banged my head on something. So, am I going to die like this? Just for that? Hey, I hear some noise. It may be that stupid neighbour who set again the music too loud. As soon as I find the strength in my legs, I will have a word with her about it. Tss. All this is_ her_ fault. If we had lived in the manor, we would not have to endure these noisy neighbors and this neighborhood full of muggles. The noise is getting closer. Voices. It's fun, the smell disappears. I can feel my body moving. Wait… How can I move when I don't even more feel my feet? Voices. There are voices. I can hear voices around me. Perhaps I'm going ? Oh no ! I can't ! I even didn't tell her goodbye. And I know her, she'll blame me. If I don't tell her goodbye, she would be probably able to come and pick me up over there. She is a real pain in the ass, sometimes. Hey, the smell's gone. No, wait… That's another smell now. Oh my, now it's this smell here ? Looks like at St Mungo's. It stinks even more than earlier. What's going on? Hermione…_

* * *

The young woman arrived, bathed in sweat. Her long brown curly hair waved behind her and floated at the rate of her jerky steps. She just apparated, after a healer warned her by Floo powder. She took St Mungo's stairs two by two, anxiety creasing her large forehead. Biting her lips, she tumbled in the four-hundred-and-seventeen room, in which a blond man with delicate features and prance was complaining with a nurse who blushed, fiddling with his white coat.

- Honey!

Draco's complexion turned pale ever further when his eyes met theirs of the disheveled intruder. The dread was read on his face and he stuttered pathetically.

- Hermione… Darling! This… This isn't my fault!

A priori, there was more frightened than hurt. She quickly analyzed the situation and heaved a sigh of relief. An imperious glare to the nurse ordered this latter to back off hurriedly, which she did without needing coaxing.

A silence ensued, during which they looked each other up and down without sketching a single gesture. Finally, the brunette ran an irritated hand through her hair that got on little untidier and crossed her arms.

- What was it, this time? She asked in a slow, wry and tired voice.

He did not answer immediately, his eyes analyzing the situation. However, he could not evade her question: she was standing in front of him with a menacing look and he was stuck on his hospital bed.

- Spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, he pitifully articulated.

She sighed and looked out the window. Outside an old man walking with difficulty was helped by a healer who gave him a wooden stick.

- I'm gonna kill Harry, she uttered with a blasé tone.

He gave a faint scowl: if Potter is going to get himself done, he may have a chance to escape.

- As for you…, she said and she transferred her attention to him, pointing her threatening finger on him and dragging herself out of the contemplation of the old man who had grabbed the cane and gave now blows to the helpless healer.

Damn it. He was going to be in trouble. One more time. Like all the time. I must say that it had become a habit. Since Potter had offered him this cookbook, he revealed a real passion for cooking. Passion that led him to try many dishes. Pardoxically, the number of dishes he had wanted to try was proportional to his visits to St Mungo's. According to these facts, this book was bewitched to kill him. Who knew, Potter was aware of this and offered it to him consciously. After all, maybe he would kill the Scar-faced. It would not be surprising of him, although Weasley was the best to wish to get rid of him. Lost in his thoughts, he did not listen to the moralizing speech of his wife who was pacing round with a furious look. Her long hair floated around her and her thin waist swayed her hips at the rate of her steps. He gave a half-smile: even angry, she had an incredible charm.

- You know nevertheless very well that we had decided to forbid you the entrance of the kitchen! Remember the last time you wanted to make a crème brûlée! We had to completely redo the frame! And I don't even talk about the state in which I found Crookshanks!... And look at me when I'm talking to you! And stop making fun! And listen to me!

That's it, she had just finished speaking. As usual, he had not listened any of her words. As usual, she had realized. And as usual, she had noticed only at the end. As usual she arrested herself in her tirade and stared at him with a boiling glare. As usual, she slowly approached her husband. As usual, she was about to yell again at him, telling him how anxious she was when the healer disturbed her smack in the middle of her meeting with the Ministry Auror of Magic. And as usual, he would take action. That was now Draco's favorite moment in their quarrels. The fateful instant when the roles reversed and in which he regained control of the situation. This small second which was enough to appease all the angers of his wife and the little second that saved his life each time.

Hermione's determined and hard look disappeared little by little when she swooped in Draco's ash and tearful eyes.

- Do not start!..., she began, seeing perfectly what he had in mind.

But she could not finish her sentence, definitely defeated. He had always succeeded to kink her with that pout. She sighed with discouragement and leaned over him to tenderly hug him, a reassured and loving smile on her face. She buried her face in his neck and the blond man tightened his grip on her. He exhibited a smirk that she did not – fortunately – see. The look of the miserable-little-dog-that-was-all-alone-abandoned-in-the-rain always worked. Too happy his stratagem worked, he barely heard her whispering:

- All that fuss for a Bolognese, Draco, really…

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_Thank you for reading!_

_Please, don't hesitate to write me a review, so that I'll know if you liked it or not. ^^_

_All the best,_

_Kumi_


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